Victoria's Demon Lover (16 page)

     She slid from
the bed and more sticky fluids trickled down the inside of her thigh, reminding
her of last night’s tumble.  She unlatched a shutter and pushed it out.  No
clock.  She looked to the east and saw the lighter glow over the tops of the
trees and knew it was time to get up.  Day started early here.  It ended early,
too, though, she reminded herself.  She stirred the embers of the fire and
looked in the basket for the last loaf of bread.  She did not know what Maggie
had been feeding him for breakfast.  She hoped thick slices of toast and fresh
butter would be enough.  Her heart sank.  She knew it was not.  That muscle had
to be fed and he had a long day of work ahead of him.  No office cubicle and
thirty minute commute for him.  This man worked
hard
.  Twelve hours six
days a week.  He needed more than a slice of toast.

     She sighed and
peeked in every crock, looking for a clue.  The sharp trill of a rooster made
her jump, but Jack’s snore told her the sound had not even registered.  Eggs. 
She got up and slipped her dress over her head.  It was chilly outside, though
it was summer.  She paused long enough to tie her shoes on her feet and grabbed
a basket. This was not like running down to the all night market.  The air was
crisp and had that new day freshness to it.  The birds were not awake yet,
except that rooster, and the silence was as refreshing as the air.  No traffic
rumble or lawnmowers or leaf blowers to mar the morning.  She pushed open the
barn doors and looked for chickens.  Good call.  They were lined up in the
straw, ladies on their nests and they only blinked at her with round bird eyes
when she snaked her hand under each warm bird butt for the smooth egg that  lay
under each hen.

     “Thank you,
ladies” she said to them.

     They trilled softly
at her.  She wondered if he fed them, or if she was supposed to.  She took the
basket back to the cottage and set it on the table.  Another snore from the
bed.  He would be up soon.  She wondered if she normally woke him and if he
relied on her to get him up.  She chewed her lip.  This was a big day.  Better
do it.

     She padded over
to the bed and leaned over him.  His cock was standing, tenting the blanket
over his hips.  She lifted the edge of the cloth to see it in the dim light. 
Very nice.  She never had the angle to look at it for more than a few seconds
when it was engaged in entering her.  She remembered the evening when she and
Torgal watched this cock deflower Maggs.  Was it her? Victoria?  It was.  She
had slid into Maggie’s body that night.  She was Maggie.  A different body, but
it was still her.  Mine.  She reached out and grasped the cock gently.

    He jumped and
covered her hand with his own for a moment before he was fully awake, then he
laughed.

     “Did you not get
enough last night?” he asked.

     “I was about to
ask the same thing,” she nodded toward their two hands around his erection.

     “Never.”  He
took her arms and pulled her on top of him, rolled her over deftly and inserted
the cock inside her so fast she was still blinking.  “It is always ready for
you, Maggs.”

     He closed his
eyes and pumped.   She was too surprised to respond.  It felt good, like a
massage feels good.  Having him so close felt better, and seeing his love for
her in his eyes was best of all.  He came with many little spurts this time,
rather than big gushes and quickly dismounted, bending over the bed with a
little grimace.  “Not a good idea to do that before I’ve pissed.”  His face
twisted in mock agony, and he limped out the door, naked.

     Victoria
laughed.  While he was gone she explored the fireplace looking for a way to
cook those eggs.  She found a cast iron pan and the crock of butter.  He was
getting them fried today whether he liked it or not.  She opened all the
shutters to let the morning sun illuminate her workspace and put the pan on the
coal bed and sliced the bread.  She saw Jack striding from the outhouse back to
the cottage door and turned as he entered.  He dressed quickly, jerking the
laces of his breeches and then pulling on his heavy boots.  She spread butter
on the bread and turned the eggs.

     Minutes later he
returned with a bucket of fresh milk and three eggs she had missed.  She set
his breakfast in front of him on a wooden trencher and he picked up a two-pronged
fork.

    Fork. 
This
must be at least the seventeenth century
, she told herself.  She had not
the courage to ask him the date.  He would think she had gone soft in the
head.  He shoveled the eggs into his mouth quickly and each slice of bread
disappeared in three bites.  She refrained from telling him to slow down, but
wondered if he ever suffered from indigestion.

     His plate was
clean.  He glanced up at her before looking around the table.  “No porridge
this morning?”

     Ah.  She forgot
the porridge.  He had already eaten the equivalent of three breakfasts.  Six
eggs and half a loaf of bread.  She blushed.  “Tomorrow, I promise.”  She
tilted her head at him, “I had an interruption this morning,” she used that as
an excuse and it worked.

     “Ah, yes, my
love.  Maggie.  Your little cunny is enough breakfast for me.”  He wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the bench back.  He didn’t bother to
put on a tunic, but went out the front door with thumps of his boots on the
flagstone.

     “Jesus H
Christ,” she breathed.  “Fuck.  Is this going to be my new life?” she asked
aloud.  So far so good. She could handle this.  Hot showers and fancy
restaurants faded in her memory to be replaced by this hot man and fancy sex. 
Good deal.  She picked up his plate.  Women’s liberation was centuries ahead of
her, but she could put up with this.  She sure could.  Oh yes.

     Jasper stood
between her and the sideboard where the washing up was done.  “Oh no,
Victoria.”

     She glared at
him and raised the wooden plate like she would hit him with it.  “Go away.  I
am enjoying myself.”

     “Victoria,
please.  Listen to me.  I am not trying to ruin things for you, but something
terrible is going to happen today and you can’t be here.”

     She lowered the plate
to her side.  She leaned onto the table when her knees failed her.  It occurred
to her that she had seen Marcus slain, and watched Torgal slowly bleed to
death.  She had not seen what happened to Jack.  Cold fingers clutched at her
spine and she sank onto the bench, letting the trencher clatter to the floor.

     Jasper nodded. 
“You don’t have to be here when it happens.  Come away with me now.”  The
little monkey demon extended his hand to her and the compassion in his monkey
eyes was far from demonic.  She blinked tears at him.

     “Can’t I do
something?” she whispered.

     Jasper winced. 
“In a way you already have… or will, or did.”  The verbal tenses didn’t seem to
make much sense when discussing time travel.  Jasper looked confused.  “I don’t
think you can change the past.”

     She thought
about this.  She considered taking his hand.  She would return to her bed,
perhaps make an espresso and sit on her sofa to watch the morning news show. 
The anchor ladies with their impossible hair-dos would go on and on about the
local animal shelter and the traffic on the expressway.  She could get in her
car and go shopping for shoes.  She could call a friend and have a light lunch
in a fashionable bistro.

     Or she could
watch Jack die.  He had no scar on his neck.  Not yet.

     She burst into
tears and put her head down on her arms on the table.  She felt Jasper’s little
monkey hand patting her back.  If she left now she wouldn’t know.  She would
worry all day, thinking about it.  Nothing would bring her joy ever again.

     “I can’t,” she
sobbed.  “I have to stay.  Even if…”

     Jasper sighed. 
“I knew you would say that.  I was told to force you.”  The way he said it made
it sound like he might not obey the command.  She looked up and wiped her
nose.  Outside she heard the clank of hammer on metal.  Jack had started his
work.

     “How can you
force me?  And who told you?”

     “I can take you
back against your will,” Jasper admitted, “and Jack told me.  He told me. 
Marcus and Torgal too.”

     She sat up,
trying to make sense of this.  “They want me back at the lake house?”

     Jasper wrinkled
his nose.  “You are doing it wrong,” he said.  “They need your help to do what
they are trying to do, but you are not cooperating.”

     “Spell it out,
then,” she snapped.  “I’m tired of hearing this from everyone.  Am I just
stupid?”

     She was
surprised to see tears glisten in Jasper’s eyes.  “You are not stupid,
Victoria,” he said gently.  “You are stubborn, and determined.  This is good. 
But it means you resist with the same intensity that you do the things you like
doing.”  Japer sighed.  “You don’t want to do what Jack needs you to do.”

     “What does he
need me to do?  Tell me and I will do it.”

     “He needs you to
go back to the lake house.”

     “I won’t.”

     Jasper covered
his eyes with a little hand.  “See?” he murmured, and she wondered if he was
talking to her or to an unseen master.

     She heard
hoofbeats approaching.  She gave Jasper a fierce warning look and he
disappeared.  She tied her apron on tighter, checked her shoes and smoothed her
braid under a little white cap.  She pushed open the door and marched out into
the yard.  No one was going to kill Jack without going through her first.

     The hammer
paused in mid-air as she approached.  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

     Of course
something was wrong, and she was sorry it was so obvious on her face.  “I hear
horses on the road.  I came out to tell you.  I know you can’t hear anything
over the sounds of the metal and the fire.”

     He set the
hammer down and stepped away from the bellows and the flames.  They both heard
the rhythmic beat through the trees.  He nodded.  “I need you to stay inside
when they get here.” He looked at her and she saw he was deadly serious.

     “Can I not greet
them?” she resisted.

     “No.  They shall
not see you.”

     She pretended to
pout, but that did not work.  He looked exasperated.  “Maggie, if they see you
he will want you and I cannot say no.”

     “Cannot say
‘no’?”  She put her hands on her hips and was about to argue when she
remembered she was not in America in the twenty-first century.  What kind of
fucked up place and time was this where a man’s wife was not his own?  She grit
her teeth and the monkey’s warning made more sense to her.

     She turned and
stomped back into the cottage. She snapped all the shutters shut again and
slammed the crockery on the sideboards.  She leaned on the shelf that served as
a counter top and seethed. 
Maybe not.  Maybe I cannot live in such a time
. 
Even for a man.  This thought made her stomach turn.  She wanted Jack.  And
Marcus and Torgal.

     Hoof beats
stopped in front of the cottage.  She heard the jangle of the bits and saddle
harness as the men dismounted.  She heard their hearty greetings.  Jack would
have to come in to get the sword he had made for Lord Brigayne.  She backed
away into the corner.  No one would see her.

     He came in and
gave her a warning glance before turning to the wooden chest under the bed.  He
knelt on the floor and pulled the chest out so he could lift the lid.  Victoria
saw him gently lift something long wrapped in cloth.  He unwrapped the sword
and discarded the cloth which fell to the flagstones.  He tilted the sword
against the light from the open door and sighted along its length.

     Victoria knew
the sword was finished, and that it was perfect.  This inspection was more a ritual
than anything else.  She knew it was his way of saying goodbye to his artwork. 
She puffed up with pride.  He was the best smith for miles around.  A hundred
miles.  With the completion of this sword he would be considered a Master,
though he had not finished his seven years as journeyman yet.  He got to his
feet and walked out the door without closing it. His hands were full.  She
crept along the wall until she reached the threshold and peeked out.

     The men were
gathered in a tight circle to look at the shining sword.  Their horses stood
patiently by, their heads lowered, chewing on their bits and whipping their
tails against the flies.  Jack stood straight and proud, the muscles of his
chest and shoulders bore witness to the strength that had gone into the
hammering of this fine sword.

     Lord Brigayne
was pleased.  He weighed the sword in his hand and felt for the balance.  He
lifted it and sighted along its length as Jack had done.  He smiled broadly and
said something she couldn’t hear.  The other men laughed low and one of them
thumped Jack on his shoulder with a gloved hand.  They knew what they had.  The
best smith for miles around.  One of the men handed Jack a heavy purse. 
Victoria’s eyes widened.  She blinked.  A few more swords and they could own a
Mercedes, she smiled to herself.  Here that probably meant another cow or two. 
Maybe a fine dress.  The pleasures of life were simple here.  Enough food and
drink, a warm fire in winter, perhaps a paid servant to do the heavy work.  She
rubbed her hands together.  She could feel yesterday’s work in her muscles and
joints already.